


no time like the present

by RenderedReversed



Series: this ain't no fairytale [14]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, Item Shop AU, Recettear AU, adventurer!Tom, best read in series order, sorcerer!shopkeeper!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 16:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15489948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: Tom knows his past is full of loose ends, and he knows that eventually, he'll have to tie them.Unfortunately, this time may come sooner rather than later.





	no time like the present

Scotia's Magic Advisor is not an easy man to seek audience with—doubly so when the audience prioritizes privacy.

But Tom makes do. He's not here to see the Magic Advisor, after all; he's here for the Trivia Wizard, and as long as it's not a secret (and sometimes, even if it is), the Trivia Wizard _will_ know about it.

He spends two weeks visiting the third floor, second quadrant of the Grand Library before Slughorn finds him.

"Tom, was it?" the Trivia Wizard asks, his smile jovial despite the sharpness of his eyes. "I heard you were looking for me."

"Yes," Tom says. "Consider it a business opportunity."

Slughorn doesn't take a seat. "I'm afraid old age has gotten to me," he says rather modestly. "This old man isn't as he used to be."

It's a patented lie, of course.

"And if I can make it worth your while?"

"It is the time of you youngsters, now. We Old World Titans need our rest." Slughorn shakes his head and begins to turn away. "You shouldn't seek me out again, Mr. Gaunt. There is little I can do for you."

"On the contrary—"

Tom's rapier hits the table top with a soft _thunk_.

Slughorn turns around.

"I think there's a lot you can do for me," Tom says. "Sit."

"You would threaten me?"

"That you ask implies you know I have the ability in the first place." Tom runs a finger across the length of his blade and says, "That's rather dangerous information, Horace. Do you think Scotia's king will protect you?"

"Albus Dumbledore is a great man," Slughorn says.

He sits.

"Agree to disagree," Tom says, "as that is neither here nor there. I came to do business, not to talk politics."

"Aren't those the same thing?"

Tom leans back. "You tell me," he says, spreading his arms.

Slughorn, on the other hand, leans forward and laces his fingers together. "You, Mr. Riddle, are playing a very dangerous game. And I entertain you not because of _that_ —" he slants his gaze to The Basilisk, "—but because out of the two of us, you have far more to lose than I."

"So out of the goodness of your heart—how fitting of your station."

"Cruelty benefits no one," Slughorn says. And then, rather pointedly, he adds, "Albus taught me that."

"We have fantastically different definitions of cruelty, then. No matter—I just need an answer. You know my question."

"What can I say? You have many enemies, Mr. Riddle."

" _Voldemort_ has many enemies. People who would see him eliminated for his glory, his success—his… _neutrality_. He follows no lord, so naturally, all lords despise him; he steps on the heads of those who would see him harmed, so naturally, even more would see him vanquished; his followers, _they_ are accomplished, so those who'd rather take their place are envious. Those have nothing to do with Tom Riddle.

"You know," Tom says, "who I refer to."

"You said this was a business opportunity," Slughorn says. "The information you seek comes not without a price…and a rather hefty one at that."

Tom pulls an ingredient chest out of his bag and slides it across the table. He watches as Slughorn undoes the clasp and lifts the lid.

"Jewel Blossom," Tom says. "That enough for you?"

He can see the greed brimming in Slughorn's eyes.

"The House of Riddle indeed knows where you are," Slughorn says. "You were seen at the entrance of Amber Garden by one of their spies. Your father has already sent men after you—they will reach Scotia in a few days' time."

"Who poisoned me?"

"Well, you killed the owner of the blade that did it."

Tom clenches his fists and glares across the length of the table. "The _maker_ , Horace. Tell me whose concoction sent Abraxas to his death."

Slughorn looks down at the ingredient chest. Then, he looks back up at Tom and says,

"The Half-Blood Prince, Severus Snape."

"Where do I find him?"

"I'm afraid not even your Jewel Blossom can buy you that—he goes where he pleases. No one knows." Slughorn shrugs. "Many seek to get in contact with him, but few do. Your father stumbled across his employ by sheer dumb luck that time."

"My party members. Are they dead or alive?"

"You've asked all I can answer," Slughorn says. "Best get to running if you intend to leave."

Tom doesn't keep pushing. He takes his rapier from the table and replaces it at his waist.

Slughorn makes to stand, but just as he leaves his seat, he pauses.

"I will say one more thing, Mr. Riddle, before I go. There is more than meets the eye to the House of Riddle, more than what can be seen on the surface, and more still than what lies beneath. You would do well to take caution. The war may be over, but I fear danger still lurks in the shadows of peace."

"I know it well," Tom replies.

Slughorn smiles bitterly. "Ah, but do you really?" he asks.

Then, just as he came, Slughorn disappears among one of the library's many bookshelves.

Tom sits there a while longer and contemplates all that he'd learned. To only have a few days' time—

He should go. It's not safe here any longer.

…Though he'd known this day would come, Tom wishes it hadn't arrived so soon.

How is he supposed to tell Harry?

* * *

Tangleworm's Root, Hallucinoil, Pixieseed, and Jewel Blossom: of the four ingredients, Harry's true aim in his trip to Amber Garden was only one.

His ingredient list of the other dungeons were equally nonsensical—on the surface. In the long, extended list of rarities and oddities, Harry hid the ingredients to a very specific blend of incense.

'Mirage Sea'—an incense which, once inhaled, induces an incredibly hallucination-prone state. And of course, one of its ingredients is Hallucinoil—along with a dozen other rather eccentric plant material. Whether the recipe Harry has is the _true_ recipe for Mirage Sea is up for debate; its original creator lies hundreds of years dead in the past, and trying to reverse engineer such a thing when its individual ingredients may be extinct already is bound to result in discrepancies.

Still, it's effective enough, especially as its recipe is only known to a handful of people—and the complete recreated version is kept by fewer still: just two.

Naturally, there are also downsides to this. For one, anyone who knows and can recognize Mirage Sea for what it is will probably be able to identify _him_ as well, and if they're not sure anyway, then they've got a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right. For two, it makes it inconvenient to produce in large batches, but this is the lesser issue. Harry shouldn't need much anyway; it's only the working defensive plan until he can get his hands on longer-term solutions.

Anyway, the chance of being identified this way is minimal enough that Harry'll risk it.

It seems his body knows the recipe better than his head does. Harry moves like a man possessed, switching between preparing the ingredients and stirring his boiling cauldron in sharp, counterclockwise motions. Just as the next hour hits, he exchanges the fire for a Flame of Will-o'-Wisp and the tinder for Ghost Bark.

Three hours later, a small pile of soft, malleable powder sits at the bottom of his cauldron, cleansed of all impurities.

Harry wipes away the sweat on his forehead. Finished at last. Merlin, he _hates_ brewing.

Later, he will tuck a now-full incense container into the box beneath his bed and hope he will not have to use it. Later, he will come up with five more contingency plans and pick and choose at least three of them to packrat for, each more complex than the last. And later, far, far later, maybe Harry will find sleep.

He thinks about all the things he's been trying not to think about.

With a grim expression, Harry sets to cleaning his workspace. It's hardly a reality yet, but if the demons really do come back, if the war really does start up again, then—

All the duties and responsibilities he'd sought to run from in the past will come crashing back down again. Only this time, he isn't a young boy of eleven, or even fifteen. He's 28 years old, and there are promises he has to keep.

Unbidden, Tom's face comes to mind.

Harry had asked him to wait, had asked him wordlessly to respect his silence until such a time Harry was ready to reveal all that he was. He still doesn't feel quite ready, but if there's a chance his choice will be taken from him—

Maybe he does need to talk with Tom, before it's too late.

**Author's Note:**

> Roll a 5, advance the plot.


End file.
